See You Around
by eyesvacant
Summary: Your savior... well, not really. But you've seen him before. Around school, maybe, but not as of late. He works at the DX, doesn't he? You remember him smiling at you after you purchased some Twinkies and a Coke. He doesn't remember you. But you remember him. How could you forget? His name tag said Sodapop. (One shot. Rated T for language and violence. Please review!)


You practically stumble into the diner, your head throbbing with reckless abandon. All you did was ask him why he was drinking. He promised. He had promised he wouldn't anymore. Just a week ago he promised. And now, tonight, there he was again, flask gripped tightly in his hand.

You try not to think about it as you look for a spot to sit. Pick a seat, any seat. The diner is practically deserted except for an old, tired looking red head behind the counter, smoking a cigarette lazily, her eyelids drooping. You take a quick glance at her before sitting in a booth close to the door. You look down at the table, trying so very hard not to cry.

"What'll it be?" The lady's raspy voice surprises you. It seems she got over here so quickly, but you look at the clock and see that a few minutes have passed. You're really out of it. You also acknowledge how late it is. Almost one in the morning.

"Just... Just a Coke." You try to grin up at her, your lip nearly opening again. He had split it open when he hit you with the side of his flask. It had taken you nearly twenty minutes to finally stop the bleeding.

He promised, god dammit. He made a promise.

You look down at your body. Your left knee is scraped from when he pushed you, and right above that, your skirt begins. A nice, plain coral skirt that your mother got you from Bloomingdales. Your mother always did nice little things like that for you. You have on a matching sweater, which you have just noticed is stained with blood. You look at your hands, your palms scraped from stopping your head from hitting the hard cement he tried to push you down on.

He had really tried to hurt you. He succeeded.

Besides your split lip, you have a number of injuries on your face. A bruise is forming above your left eye and your cheek is scraped up badly. You could stop most of your head from hitting the ground, but the tip of your nose is scraped up raw.

It could be worse. It could always be worse.

The waitress sets a Coke down in front of you. It looks questionable, lukewarm. Too syrupy. But you thank her anyway. It takes her a minute to leave, as she looks at you worriedly.

"Do you need to use a phone, dear?" Her voice makes it obvious she's been a devout smoker for quite a number of years.

You shake your head, unable to say anything, your throat raw from screaming for help that never came.

Is she kidding? Calling your parents at this hour? They would beat you even harder than they already will. Your father is already going to beat you for coming home late while your mother hides in the other room, sipping tentatively at a glass of wine.

She looks at your for a second more before finally deciding to leave you alone. You take a sip of your Coke.

Lukewarm, just as you suspected.

A bell dings.

And in he walks.

Your savior... but not really. But you've seen him before, sure you have. Around school, maybe, but not as of late. He works at the DX, doesn't he? You remember him smiling at you after you purchased some Twinkies and a Coke. He doesn't remember you. His name tag read Sodapop.

He looked so alive that day, goofing off with his coworker when you weren't looking. Now, he just looks tired. But somehow, his eyes are still lively, still full of humor. Patient, loving, kind.

You notice you're staring, so you duck your head and take a sip of Coke.

But it's too late. He's already seen you. And he's staring, for all the wrong reasons.

"Hey..." He says, concern filling his voice, "Hey..."

"What?" You say, looking up, failing at sounding oblivious.

"Are you alright?" He's genuinely concerned.

"I'm..." You shake your head. "Well..."

"You're not..." He grins at you, slipping nonchalantly opposite you at the booth.

You shift around uncomfortably, wincing when you bump your scraped knee into the table.

"What happened to you?" He asks.

"What happened to _you_?" You fire back, lips pursed. You don't feel like talking. You just feel like moping around for a while and feeling sorry for yourself.

"I couldn't sleep," He shrugs, "My brother was taking all the covers and I thought I shouldn't disturb him. So I just came here."

"You sleep with your brother?" I raise my eyebrows at him, "I think we have bigger problems than we first thought."

He smiles. You're surprised, he smiles at your joke. Most people don't get your sense of humor, sometimes are even offended by it. But he gets it. You can't help but smile back. His grin is contagious.

"You're clever," He crosses his arms. "How's that working out for you, being clever?"

"Not very well so far," You gesture toward yourself, "As you can see."

"Right..." He looks at you, his face turning serious once again. "Now, why don't you tell me that happened?"

"Why are you so concerned?"

"Because you seem like a sweet little number in need of a friend."

"I got out of line," I shrug.

"You mean your...?"

"Boyfriend. My boyfriend did this to me. I asked him why he was drinking and he beat me. Now, was that worth pestering me for?"

"_That's_ getting out of line?"

You shrug again.

"A man should never hit a woman. No matter what." He shakes his head. Is his face getting red? "It's just wrong."

"Tell that to nearly every male figure in my life."

"Well... I'd never hit you. Or any woman, for that matter."

"That would be a nice first." You bite your lip, forgetting that it's split open. "Shit."

Dime size splatters of blood fall upon the table. Tears of frustration sting at your eyes.

He gets up and slides next to you in your side of the booth, cooing comforting words at you in a gentle voice. You can't help but bury your head in his chest, letting yourself cry into him.

Pulling away for a moment, you see that a few drops of blood have soaked into his already car-oil stained shirt.

"Oh... Oh, I'm sorry," You say quietly.

He shakes his head, "S'alright."

But you're starting to break down, tears well up in your eyes.

"No... I'm really..." Your whole body shakes as you take a breath, "I'm really..." You trail off, stuttering.

He shushes you, tracing your backbone up and down. You don't know why, but you feel comfortable with him, letting your head rest on his shoulder. You feel yourself doze off a few times to the steady sound of his heart beat. Somehow, though, it gets quicker every time you move. You wake up from another two minute nap.

"I'm tired," You say plainly.

He nods, his lips pursed, "Can I walk you home?"

You shrug, sniffling, "I don't know... can you?"

A smile breaks open on his face, and you can't help but smile too.

Your arm wrapped with his, he walks you up to your front porch. The lights in the house are off, which means your father isn't waiting for you in the living room with a belt ready in his hand. They don't even know you're out. You could be asleep in your room for all they know. You sigh, your breath shaking, moving forward to unlock the front door.

"Wait," He stops you, grabbing your arm quickly but careful to be soft. You look at him, your eyebrows raised.

"I- I don't even know your name," He stutters.

"That's okay," You grin, "You will soon enough. I'll see you around."

He looks at you for a moment, very serious. "You promise?"

"I promise."

You kiss his cheek before walking through the door.


End file.
